


My Dinner With John

by Beefmaster



Series: Into The Harryverse [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1950s, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27096874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beefmaster/pseuds/Beefmaster
Summary: After the events of "I'm Just Wild About Harry," John and Harry go to dinner and talk about their lives.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Into The Harryverse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921519
Kudos: 2





	My Dinner With John

**Author's Note:**

> This is rated T, because I think if this were a movie we could probably get a PG-13 rating, but it's kind of a hard T, because it does contain discussions of sex and mentions of hard drug use.
> 
> I also want to point out that John and Harry are being far more open about their love for each other and Harry’s homosexuality than two men would likely be in 1955, but this fic isn’t about historical accuracy it’s about friendship.
> 
> Thanks as always to a_bit_not_good_yeah for betaing, and to the bozos over on the Ghosts OC Discord for loving Harry and Edward almost as much as I do.

**John’s Apartment, June 8th, 1955**

“Edward, do you mind fending for yourself tonight?” Harry asks as they dress for the day. “John wanted to go to dinner, just the two of us.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You can get a drink, or go to the movies, I’m sure there’s something you’d like to see that I’d hate-”

“Harry, I really don’t mind,” Edward says as he buckles his belt. “I’ll do something touristy, maybe see the Rockettes.”

Harry scoffs. “That sounds awful. You’re going to love it.”

“You don’t approve of anything I do,” Edward pouts.

Harry cups Edward’s jaw, tilting his face up. “I can think of something you could do that I would approve of.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Edward chides, but he lets Harry kiss him anyway. It's a filthy kiss, far too filthy for this early in the morning, but Harry loves winding Edward up. He hopes he’ll always feel like this, that the feeling of Edward’s full lips will always drive him just to the edge of madness.

“I thought,” Edward pants, as he pushes Harry away, “you were taking me to the Met.”

“Alright, we’ll go. But you’ll have to put a shirt on, or I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

John takes Harry to his men’s club, the sort of glitzy, crystal-and-leather place that Harry will never feel comfortable in, no matter how long it’s been since he’s lived on a farm. Still, the martinis are good, and John promises him the steak is even better. 

“So, you and Elaine,” Harry says, taking a sip of his drink. “I was starting to worry it would never happen.” 

“I know,” John says, grinning. “It’s been almost ten years since I met her, I can’t believe I get to marry her.” 

“How did it happen exactly? You’ve never said.”

“Oh, well, it’s a bit embarrassing. I was sort of a cad.”

“What did you do?” 

“Well, I don’t know if you heard, but she was engaged.”

“I did! She wrote to me. I thought I must have misremembered it. His name was Sol or something, yes?”

“Sol Rosenbaum. Some family friend from back in Chicago. I met him, he’s a nice enough guy. Anyway, one day, Elaine asks me to lunch, and she tells me they’re engaged. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t even get mad, I just said she could do whatever she liked, but that before she married him, she should know that I had loved her since the moment I met her, and if she chose to marry me instead, I would do everything in my power to make her happy for the rest of my life.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“No, it was pretty bad. It wasn’t so much that I said it so plainly, or even that I said it in the middle of a Carnegie Deli,[1] it’s the fact that I loved her for nine years and I didn’t tell her until she was engaged to someone else.”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like you really were a cad.”

“I was.”

“An insensitive punk.”

“Alright-”

“A colossal ass.”

“Yes, thank you, Harry. You’re a real jerk when you want to be, you know that?”

Harry laughs. “So I’ve been told. So what happened next? I can’t imagine she took that well.”

“Lord, no. She made a scene in the middle of the deli. She said she had been waiting for me to say those words for nine years, and for me to say them now, after she had spent her entire adult life getting over me, was cruel. She called me- what was it? A donkey-faced jerk and a coward. Then she said some things in Yiddish I didn’t understand.” John takes a sip of his martini. “The Jews are a very expressive people.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Are you ready to order, gentlemen?” the waiter asks, sidling up to the table.

“Yes!” John says brightly. “I’ll have the T-bone, medium-rare, with the baked potato.”

“I’ll have the same.”

“You don’t have to get the steak,” John says. “I know I said it was good, but get what you like.”

“No, it sounds good.”

“Alright. He always wants to do whatever I do,” he says to the waiter, conspiratorially. 

The waiter smiles. “Very good sir. Would you like another drink?”

“Yes please. Another martini, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll take a whiskey and soda. Canadian Club,[2] if you’ve got it,” Harry says.

“We do. I’ll be back in a moment.” The waiter floats away.

“See? I don’t always copy you,” Harry says, drinking the last of his martini.

“Alright, good to see you’re capable of the occasional original thought. Now where was I?”

“Elaine stormed out of the deli.”

“Yes, exactly. Well, I had to formulate a plan. And an apology. I tried calling her, but she wouldn’t pick up. I left about a million messages with her roommate Shelley, but she never returned my calls. You remember Shelley, right?”

“Of course, Shelley Eubanks. I went out with her once, Freshman year.”

John huffs dramatically. “Of course you did. You went out with half the girls in Manhattan that year. You’ve dated more women than I have.”

Harry laughs. “I had a bit of a reputation, I think.”

“You think? That’s not a bad way to do it though. Brand yourself as a ladies’ man early on, then you can do whatever you like.”

“It couldn’t have gone better if I planned it. So what then? Did you go to her place?”

“I did. I showed up at their apartment, and begged her to talk to me. I mean, I begged, on my knees and everything.”

“She must have loved that.” 

“Do you ever stop making fun of me?”

“No, but that’s what you like about me.”

“God help me, it is. Thank you,” John says, as the waiter sets down their drinks.

“Yes, thank you,” Harry echoes. “So did she let you in?”

“She did. I think she was tired of being mad at me at that point. I came in and did my whole spiel. I told her how sorry I was, what a jerk I’d been, not just at lunch, but for the whole time I’d known her, how I’d let my family and position get in the way of the only thing that was really important to me, which was her. It was really good stuff, actually, better than anything I’ve ever written.”

“More important than any stuff you’ve ever written.”

“Exactly. Although it’s not much of a competition. Dystopian short fiction isn’t exactly world-shattering stuff.”

“Don’t say that! I like your work. And with the way things are going, I fear it’s going to get more and more relevant. Did you read about this Warsaw Pact?”[3]

“I did, but if you don’t let me finish this story we’ll be here all night.”

“Fine. I do like your writing though.”

“Thank you.”

“So you and Elaine?”

“Right. Actually, that’s about the whole story. She told me that she loved me too, and that she was still angry at me, but she wanted to give it a shot. And then she kissed me. It was very romantic. She actually tried to dip me, but I wouldn’t let her.”

“That’s disappointing.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting it. We’ve done it since then, though.”

“Good. What happened with Sol?”

“She broke it off with him the next day. He took it better than I expected. I mean, he was hurt, obviously, but they’re on friendly terms now.”

“A happy ending for everyone, then.”

“Indeed. The wedding’s in October.” John spins the stem of his martini glass in his fingers. “Will you come? I didn’t want to ask before, because, well, I didn’t know if you were ready to come back to New York, but since you’re here, it would mean a lot to me if you came.”

“Of course I’ll come! I wouldn’t miss it.”

John smiles into his glass. “Good. I’ve already asked Elaine’s brother to be my best man, but will you be a groomsman?”

“I’d be honored. Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been back in so long. I just- at first it was, you know, Victor. But after a while I was mostly just ashamed. I mean, I fled New York. I left you with barely a goodbye.” Harry chews his lip. “I was afraid to face you, I think.”

“Harry, you’re my best friend,” John reassures. “I always want to see you.”

“I really missed you.” 

John smiles at him, a bright, genuine smile. “I missed you too.”

“Alright, enough with the mushy stuff.”

“But we’re mushy people now!” John says excitedly. “I mean, we’re in love, the both of us. I like Edward, by the way. I think you two are a lovely couple.”

Harry looks around. “Should we be talking about this here?”

John waves his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. That’s why I had them put us here, in the back. Nobody can hear us.”

“And the waiter?”

“The waiter’s a flit.”[4]

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes I can. Just watch him when he comes back, you’ll see.”

“Fine.”

“So you and Edward. Cute couple. Adorable.”

“Who’s making fun of who now?”

“No, I mean it! And he loves you. It’s so obvious.”

Harry smiles. “He really does. And I’m happy with him. Like, really happy. When I was with Victor, and even with Philip, I think I was constantly trying to impress them, prove that I was worth loving. But it’s not like that with Edward. He just sort of loves me.” Harry reaches into his breast pocket. “Edward gave me something, actually.” 

“Oh?”

Harry pulls out the pocket watch and holds it out. “It belonged to his father, a wedding gift from his mother apparently.”

John takes the watch, holding it carefully in his hands. “It’s a handsome piece.”

“He said he gave it to me because he can’t give me a ring.”

John nearly drops the watch in shock. “So you’re-”

“Engaged, sort of, or maybe married. I don’t know. I mean, obviously we aren’t anything, but,” Harry breathes deeply through his nose. “It’s silly to think that men like us could have forever, and maybe we can’t, but if I can, I want to have it with Edward.”

“God, that’s wonderful. And I’m sure you will. Have forever, I mean. Like I said, he really loves you. You should see the way he looks at you.” John takes a cigarette case out of his breast pocket. “You want one?”

“What are they?”

“Old Gold.” He places a cigarette between his lips.

“Jesus, I miss Old Gold.”

“It’s your brand.” He wiggles a cigarette enticingly.

“It _was_ my brand. They don’t have it in England, now I smoke whatever’s cheapest. Alright, I’ll have one. Just one though, I’m cutting back.”

John hands him a cigarette, then lights his own. “Cutting back?” He hands Harry the lighter.

Harry lights his cigarette. “Edward’s making me. He read some study that said cigarettes cause lung cancer.”

John coughs. “You can’t believe everything you read.”

Harry hands back the lighter. “Maybe. Doesn’t really matter if it’s true, if Edward asks me to do it, I do it.”

John grins. “We’re whipped.”

“Into submission.”

“Did you ever think we’d be like this? Back when we were in school?”

“Like what? Whipped?”

“Sure. Whipped. In love. Old. All of it.”

“I’m not _old_ , John.”

“Well I am. I found a gray hair yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Harry says, flicking away some cigarette ash. “You’re going to go bald before you go gray.”

John groans and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t I know it.” 

“Your steaks, gentlemen,” the waiter says. He carefully places the plates in front of them. “Would you like another round?”

“I suppose we should switch to wine,” John says. “Harry, any thoughts?”

“We’ll take a bottle of the Domaine des Justices Bordeaux, please,” Harry says in his most sultry voice. He looks up at the waiter through his eyelashes and smiles flirtatiously.

“Very good, sir,” the waiter says nervously. He blushes furiously and scurries off. 

Harry looks at John in amazement. “You were right.”

“See? I’ve got an eye for this sort of thing.” John puts out his cigarette and pulls his silverware out from the napkin. “Could you really not tell?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe if I had really thought about it. I used to have a better sense of it, but I’m not really looking anymore. I mean. I’ve got Edward, and we’ve got other friends who are like us. Besides, I don’t know how young people are styling themselves anymore.” Harry cuts into his steak. “Did you know about me?” 

“Not right away. I knew before you told me though. You had the biggest crush on Allen Ginsberg.”[5]

Harry freezes, a piece of steak halfway to his mouth. “You knew about that?”

“How could I not? He was all you talked about. Allen did this, Allen said that.”

Harry smiles dreamily. “Allen. God, that mouth. What’s he up to these days? Do you know? This steak is very good, by the way.”

“I told you. I heard he moved to San Francisco. He’s still writing poetry, I’m sure.”

“Good. He was very talented.”

“You’re just saying that because you were in love with him.”

“I wasn’t in _love_ with him, I just- wanted him.”

John shakes his head. “He’s got weird eyes. Very intense.”

“What do you know?”

“I know when a man is handsome, Harry. James Dean is handsome. Rock Hudson is handsome. _Edward_ is handsome. Allen Ginsberg? Not handsome.”[6]

“You think Edward is handsome?”

“Of course. That’s not weird to say, is it?”

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I think Elaine is beautiful. Too beautiful for you, really.”

“What? I’m very good looking.”

“You will be, until you go bald.”

“That was below the belt, you know that?”

“Why, are you balding there too?”

John laughs so hard he almost chokes on his baked potato. “Jesus Christ, Harry!”

Harry shrugs. “I thought it was funny.”

“It was. I’m man enough to admit that. If you think Elaine is pretty, why didn’t you ever ask her out? I mean you went out with Shelley and Helen. And Evelyn. And Patricia, and Mary-”

“Alright, I get it. I never asked out Elaine because of you, John. I knew you were in love with her. But I’ve told you that before.”

John smiles. “I know. But I wanted to hear it again.”

“You didn’t like hearing it the first time I told you.”

“When was the first time you told me?”

“Spring, our Freshman year. I was going out with Miriam Bettelheim that evening, and you asked why I had never asked out Elaine. So I told you, you know, because you loved her.”

“I do remember that. I denied it, of course.”

“Of course. You told me I should ask her out.”

“You didn’t, though.”

“No. I would never. Because I knew you loved her.”

John beams at him. “I really am one lucky son of a bitch, aren’t I?”

“You really are.”

“Your wine, gentlemen,” the waiter says as he approaches the table. He seems to have regained some composure. He pours a little wine into Harry’s glass for him to taste.[7] Harry swirls the glass once before taking a sip.

“Very good, thank you,” he says without a hint of flirtation. The waiter has suffered enough, he figures. The waiter pours a full glass for each of them before leaving them once more.

“You’re such a show off,” John says.

“What do you mean?”

John makes a big show of swirling his wine. “‘Very good thank you,’” he says mockingly.

“Well excuse me for knowing how to comport myself in public.”

“Maybe you should have gone out with Elaine. She thinks she knows about wine, too.”

“We _do_ know about wine.”

“Alright, sure.”

“I’m seeing Elaine tomorrow, actually. She wants me to come over and see her work. What kind of things has she been doing lately?”

“Oh, real avant-garde stuff.[8] You wouldn’t believe it. It’s not even paintings, really, they do these ‘events.’ I’ve been to them, it’s all this experimental music, and performance art, and people drawing lines on the floor with their ties.[9] I mean, it’s really out there.”

“Sounds like you don’t approve.”

“That’s the thing! I actually really, really like it. This might sound silly, but it really excites me as an artist.”

“See, that’s what I miss, the really experimental stuff. They don’t have it in London, not like they do here. Remember the weird things we used to do? Ken and I used to ride the subway and introduce ourselves to the whole car as if we were going to perform or something, and then we’d just sit down.”

“Yes, I was never quite clear on how that was art.”

“Well, it wasn’t _good_ art. But it was experimental. That’s the point, not all experiments are good. Now all I do is put paint on a canvas.”

“I’ve seen your stuff, Harry, it’s plenty experimental. Besides, you wouldn’t like the lifestyle. You should see how some of these cats live.”

“In squalor?”

“Worse than. Half of them are squatters, as far as I can tell. I don’t know if they shower. And the heroin. Jesus. Did you ever do smack?”

“Once, with Mike Walton. It wasn’t for me.”

“You did, didn’t you? I forgot about that. Mike Walton used to do all sorts of weird drugs. I think he did opium once.”

“Where do you even get opium?”

“Beats me.” 

“What’s he up to these days? What’s everybody up to?”

“Well, Mike Walton moved to Los Angeles last year. He’s still trying to be an actor, but he’s still not very good. Mike O’Rourke decided to go to law school, he’s at Princeton. Ken and Helen are married-”

“ _What?_ ”

“Not to each other, obviously.”

“Oh, good. God, they hated each other.”

“They still do. Helen and her husband hosted a dinner party a few months ago, and she and Ken fought the whole time.”

“So you still see them?” 

“Pretty often. I’m sure they’d both love to see you while you’re here. Separately, of course.”

“Of course. What are they doing besides fighting?”

“Ken’s produced a few of his plays, but mostly he’s an English teacher. Helen just had twins, actually, so that takes up most of her time, but she’s still painting, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s talking about moving to White Plains,[10] which would be an absolute snooze. If you do see her, you’ve got to warn her off it.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “I will. If anyone belongs in the city, it’s Helen.”

“Who else? Shelley is still living with Elaine, for now. She’s got a man who I’m sure will propose any day. She works at the makeup counter at Barney’s for now, but I think she hates it. Were you friends with Richard? I can’t remember.”

“Richard Marcovitch? A bit.”

“Well he works at some squaresville photo studio, taking Christmas photos and such, but mostly he likes to take pictures at all those art ‘events.’ Elaine’s probably going to show you some of his pictures when you come over.”

“I look forward to it. But what about you? You haven’t sent me a story in awhile. Have you been writing?”

“I have. I’ve actually got something I rather like, I’ll show you when we get home. I don’t know, it feels a bit hopeless sometimes. I mean, I’ve got this silly corporate job writing copy for cold cream ads, meanwhile everyone we went to school with is _doing_ things.”

“What do you mean? You just told me what everyone we went to school with is doing. I don’t mean to be rude, but it doesn’t sound like any of them are particularly more successful than you.”

“But that’s just our friends. Do you remember Daniel Hoffman? He was two years above us, he published a book of poetry last year that was praised by W.H. Auden! And Kennett Love, he’s a reporter for the _New York Times_ now.”[11]

Harry frowns. “Yes, but John, you’re not a poet or a journalist. You write short fiction. So how can you compare yourself?”

John shrugs. “I don’t know. I just worry I’m going down the wrong path. I mean, would it be better if I quit my job? Focused all my energy on writing?”

“Maybe. I certainly started painting more when I cut back on my work hours.”

“So what made you do it? How did you get over that hurdle?”

“Well, it wasn’t an internal thing for me. When I moved in with Edward, he paid all the bills at first. That was sort of his pitch to me, actually: if I moved in with him, he’d pay for the apartment, and he’d rent studio space for me. I could quit my job and focus on my painting. I kept working at the bookstore, because I liked it, but I only go in twice a week, and I stopped teaching painting classes entirely.”

“Wow, I wish I had a rich boyfriend.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “John, you are a rich boyfriend. If you want to quit your job, you should. Maybe wait till after the wedding, though.”

“It’s such a big step. And what if I fail? What if it turns out I’m not a good writer?”

“First of all, you are a good writer. So don’t do that. Secondly, give yourself a time frame. Say, I don’t know, if you don’t sell a story in three months, you’ll start looking for a real job.”

“Alright. I’ll have to discuss it with Elaine, of course.”

“Of course.”

“What was it like, moving in together? I mean, Elaine and I practically live together, but it’s not quite the same, I don’t think.”

Harry shakes his head. “It’s not. There was definitely an adjustment period. We’re different people, you know? He hates how messy I am, I hate how loudly he plays his records. But then after dinner sometimes he’ll play the piano for me, and I sit next to him on the bench, and it’s nice. And I don’t have to plan ahead if I want to spend the night, or worry about leaving something behind.”

“But what about your privacy? I love Elaine, but I’d miss my alone time if I didn’t have it. Not for anything nefarious, even, just to, I don’t know, read my book and pick my nose without being _observed_.”

Harry chuckles. “I understand. It helps that I have my own bedroom. If Edward’s being particularly annoying, I have an escape.”

“You have your own bedroom?”

Harry pours himself another glass. “I do,” he says tersely. “We’ve got a woman who comes in once a week to clean, and Edward’s family visits sometimes, and, you know, officially I’m his _roommate_. So I keep all my clothes and everything in the second bedroom.”

“It seems inconvenient.”

“It is. Just once I’d like to get dressed in the same room I sleep in. And I’m sure his niece Heather would love to stay with us when she’s in London, but the official story is we’ve got no spare rooms.” Harry takes a sip of wine. “It’s a point of contention actually, between us. I think we should dispose of the charade entirely. I mean, his family knows, even if they won’t say it, and the cleaning woman has to at least suspect. I mean, I keep my books and such on the nightstand in his room. And surely she can tell nobody’s sleeping in my bed. But Edward’s very paranoid about it.”

“Well, why don’t you sleep in your room then?”

“Hm?”

“If he’s the one who’s so paranoid, you should sleep in your room, and he should be the one who has to go across the hall to get dressed.”

Harry cocks his head. “I never thought of that, but you’re right. I’ll bring it up with him.”

“Glad to be of service.”

“Thank you. If you and Elaine ever came to London, you could stay with us. I can’t see Edward objecting to that.”

“I should hope not, seeing as you two are currently knocking boots in my spare room.”

Harry nearly spits out his wine. “What? No, we aren’t-”

“I know you are, I can hear the bedsprings. It’s alright, you’re not in trouble or anything.” John leans forward. “Is it good? Between you?”

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not _that_ drunk.”

“This is your fourth drink of the night.” Harry gestures at John’s newly refilled glass.

“Fifth actually, I had a drink before you got here. But you’ve been drinking too. C’mon, I don’t need all the details. Just some.”

Harry frowns. “Alright, fine. It’s good, I’ll say that. It gets better the more we do it. You might think it would be the opposite, but practice really does make perfect, I guess.”

John nods. “It’s like that for us too. I have another question you’re not going to like.”

Harry sighs. “What is it?”

“Do you two, you know, well, do you-“

“Bugger each other?”

John blushes. “Well, yeah. You don’t have to answer, I’m sorry I asked.”

Harry finishes off the rest of his wine. “We do. Well I do to him, mostly.”

“Oh! But sometimes you-“

“Sometimes.” Harry’s face is hotter than it’s ever been, but he feels strangely giddy at the same time. It feels _good_ to talk about this with John. He’s got friends in London, of course, but most of them are lesbians, and would prefer not to hear about his sex life. He has a few queer male friends, but they all knew Edward first, so it would be uncomfortable discussing his sex life with them. “He likes it a lot more than I do. I mean, he really likes it. You should see his face, he- well, no you _shouldn’t_ see it, but you know what I mean.”

“I do. Can I tell you something?”

“I wish you would.”

“I like it too.”

Harry furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Elaine’s, you know, just with her fingers-“

“Oh my _God_ -“

“And I liked it. I like it.”

“I can’t believe you’re telling me this.”

“Who else would I tell? Besides, if you can do it, why shouldn’t we? I don’t see why you lot should get to have all the fun.”

“I don’t know, It’s just about the only thing we’ve got that you don’t.”

John waves his hand dismissively, taking a sip of his wine. “Things are changing, you’ll see. It won’t be illegal forever.”

“Alright, but then what? Are we ever going to be able to dance together at clubs? Am I ever going to get to go to the hospital Christmas party with Edward? Are we ever going to be able to get _married_?” 

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

“No, I’m sorry, I’m getting all worked up-“

“No, I really am. It isn’t fair. You deserve- I mean, gosh. You deserve to do all of those things.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I ask another question?” John refills both their wine glasses.

“At this point, I’m a little nervous, but go ahead.”

“Why did you come to New York? When you called, you said you were visiting your family, and it wasn’t going well, but you didn’t say what happened exactly.”

“My mother, she- well, she wasn’t happy Edward was there. Have you ever met my mother?”

“No, but I’ve met all your sisters. You only have four, right?”

“I have three sisters.”

“Oh. Then who the hell did I meet?”

Harry laughs. “I have no idea!” 

“There was Norma, Annie, Willa, and Jane.”

“Willa’s not my sister, she’s Mike O’Rourke’s sister. I just went out with her once.”

“Oh! I thought it was weird when she kept trying to hold your hand. Alright, fine, tell me about the trip.”

“Well, there really isn’t much to tell, honestly. My mother hates that I’m queer, and she was determined to make my visit miserable. After a couple days, I couldn’t take it, and Edward suggested we go somewhere else, and I thought that if I couldn’t want to be with my family, I wanted to be with you.” Harry hiccups. “There, are you happy? You’re my best friend and I love you.”

John smiles. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you!”

“For the record, I’m very happy.”

“Me too.”

Harry and John sit there for a moment, smiling dopily at each other.

“Would you care for dessert, gentlemen?” the waiter asks.

“You know what?” Harry says. “I think we would.”

“Hello!” John shouts as he throws open the door to his apartment.

“Hello,” Edward responds, at a normal volume. He’s sitting on the couch, watching something on television. “How was dinner?”

“Delicious,” Harry says, as he stumbles in. 

“I’m going to get a Coke, would anyone else like a Coke?” John asks as he wanders into the kitchen.

“I think I’ll have a beer.” Harry carefully seats himself in Edward’s lap, wrapping his arms around Edward’s shoulders to keep his balance. 

“He’ll have a Coke,” Edward says. “How are you, love?”

“Wonderful.” Harry smiles. “I’ve got something for you.” He grabs Edward’s hand and moves it to his (very much flaccid) penis. 

“I don’t think you’re going to have anything for me tonight, sweetheart,” Edward chuckles. 

Harry kisses his temple. As far as kisses go, it’s more wet than pleasant, but Edward can’t help but smile.

“Alright,” Harry insists, “but I could still-”

“Did you want a Coke, Edward?” John calls from the kitchen.

“No thank you, I can’t drink caffeine this late.”

“Alright.” John comes back into the living room with two open bottles of Coke in hand. He places one on the coffee table in front of Harry before falling back into an armchair himself. “That can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s not. Harry, darling, you’re crushing me.”

“I weigh nothing,” Harry says petulantly.

“Well, that’s just not true.” Edward attempts to shift Harry into a more comfortable position on his lap, but Harry won’t budge.

“Harry, I hate to have to tell you this, but you’ve gained at least 25 pounds since you left New York.” John tries to take a swig of Coke, but ends up spilling a bit down his chin.

Harry’s mouth falls open. “How dare you! I’m not fat!”

“You’re not fat, just… cozy,” Edward reassures. He grabs a handful of fat above Harry’s hip. “Personally I like it.”

Harry takes this as an invitation to kiss Edward sloppily on the mouth. Edward allows it for a moment before pushing him away.

“I do wish you’d get off me, though.”

“Fine.” Harry slides off Edward’s lap, then immediately manhandles Edward into his own lap.

“Harry please,” Edward giggles.

“You’re my man, and I want to touch you.”

“Alright,” Edward sighs dramatically, “I can’t argue with that logic.” Edward gently takes hold of Harry’s chin and guides their mouths together.

“Try and keep it family friendly, please,” John says, but they don’t listen. That’s alright, John didn’t really mean it, anyway. He doesn’t mind seeing them like this, not really. Harry looks so happy in a way he rarely did in college. When they met, Harry was a moody 22 year old, fresh from the horrors of war and scared out of his mind to be alone in the big city. Now, ten years later, he seems confident, settled, and very much in love. How can John begrudge him this, a messy, drunken kiss, with the man who is at least partially responsible for this transformation? Really, he’s happy to let them have at it.

That is, until he hears the sound of a zipper being unzipped.

“Alight gentlemen,” John says, standing up quickly, “I think it’s time for bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> 1Iconic chain of delis in NYC back in the day.[return to text]
> 
> 2Canadian Club was the Rye whiskey at the time, at least in the US. Rye whiskey is to Canada as bourbon is to the US, or as scotch is to Scotland. I chose Canadian Club because I’m not sure how easy it would have been to get it in the UK at the time. This is what Don Draper drinks, for what it's worth.[return to text]
> 
> 3The Warsaw Pact was the collective defense treaty between the USSR and the other Eastern Bloc countries. It was signed May 14th, 1955, about three and a half weeks before this fic takes place. [return to text]
> 
> 4a 1950s term for a gay man. Probably a little derogative but that's just the history of queer terminology for ya. [return to text]
> 
> 5Columbia University class of 1948. You know I had to do it to 'em. [return to text]
> 
> 6I didn’t plan it, but I’m glad it worked out this way: all four of these men are queer. John couldn’t have known that, though. [return to text]
> 
> 7You know that tumblr post that's like "if you and a friend of the same gender go out to eat and the waitress puts the check in front of you at the end, you're the top" well that's what's happening here. [return to text]
> 
> 8What John is describing is the beginnings of the art movement Fluxus.[return to text]
> 
> 9There was this one Fluxus piece I learned about in college where this one artist gave the instruction "draw a straight line" and another artist interpreted the instructions by putting on a tie, dipping the end in ink, and walking in a straight line over a canvas while crouching so the end of the tie hit the canvas. I think about it all the time.[return to text]
> 
> 10A town in Westchester County in the Hudson Valley, a wealthy northern suburb of NYC. When I was at Vassar I used to fly into White Plains airport then take a cab to Tarrytown, then take the train to Poughkeepsie. This is in no way relevant to the story, I just wanted to share a little piece of my life with you.[return to text]
> 
> 11Real Columbia grads who really did these things.[return to text]


End file.
